milliways_bar | (no subject)

"Yes," holding his gaze.

She's scared.

And it's okay.

Because some things are worth being scared for.

He nods, and looks as though he wants to say something else, but instead only leans in to kiss her very gently, his hand warm and gentle at her cheek, before he pushes his chair back and stands, holding his hand out to her.

And he thinks, looking at her, that as lovely as he had thought her before, she has never looked more beautiful.

She stands, and takes the offered hand, and squeezes it.

"I love you," Lucy says again, because sometimes the fact that you do and you can say that is reason enough to do so.

Caspian smiles at her, and thinks, this is what I sought.

And he thinks it is very sweet.

"I love you, too," he says, and lets their fingers lace together. He doesn't think he can ever say it enough times.

"More and more every day." He draws her close, the warmth of her addicting.

"My queen," he says, softly.

"My king," resting her head on his shoulder. "My love." Which is better, and after a moment she tugs him towards the painting for the House, gently.

He follows her, willingly, and doesn't let go of her hand once, not when they reach the painting and step through, not when they are in the great empty hall, and he hardly even think about hos this is the first time he is back in the House in a week, or more.

She doesn't let go either, and doesn't plan to.

"To your room?"

"Yes."

He goes to the painting which leads to his room in the wing he shares with the Pevensies, and instead of saying goodbye as usual, they step through together.

Everything is as he left it, a week ago; the sword on a table by the window, the bed neatly made.

He takes a breath and turns, to look at her, with a slight question in his eyes.

She opens her mouth and then laughs, quietly, a little startled by herself. "I have no idea what to do now," she admits, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Caspian laughs, too, and walks over to join her, sitting down and enjoying how comfortable it is to be with Lucy, alone and loving her with every particle of himself.

"There aren't any rules, Lu," he says, and reaches out to brush her hair off her neck. "It just depends on what you want."

"You," looking at him. "That's what I want."

"You have me forever," he says, softly, leaning over to kiss her.

She smiles against his mouth and thinks that sounds absolutely perfect.

"Good," softly. "You, and you showing me how to do this. That's all I want."

"Then I'll show you," he says, low, and because they're alone now and even though she's right next to him, it's still too far away--he slides an arm over her stomach and one behind her back and buries his face in her neck, and breathes her in.

"I'm still scared," she whispers, but he's there, and it's right, and makes her breath catch. And it's easy to put a hand in his hair, so she does.

"So am I," he says, laughing a little under his breath.

"But that's alright, I think. I'm terrified, but the last thing I want to do in the world is stop."

And her hand in his hair makes him take a breath.

"And I promise it'll be all right."

And so it will be. There's no doubt.

"No stopping," firmly, with a little smile.

She still doesn't know what to do, but she's not so worried about that anymore.

"No stopping," he agrees, smiling back, and runs his hand up her back, before turning his attention back to her neck, to press kisses on the skin along the collar of her shirt.

Slowly.

Slow is good.

Slow is very good.

Lucy takes a deep breath, shakily, and lets her hand trail down his side. And smiles, a little, again, without realizing it.

It's sad that Caspian, in fact, is ticklish.

Which explains the slight jump he makes at her touch, and the grin against her neck, even while shivers go up his spine.

And then the touch stops being ticklish, and he makes a sound, deep in his throat, and raises his head to kiss her.

She'd protest the moving from her neck, but this is good too, really.

She'll never be tired of kissing him. Because she's had Bacchus' wine, and water from a sweet sea, and food from a Magician's table, and none of it compares.

She does murmur a, "Sorry," at his jump, though, for all she's half laughing.

"You aren't," he says back, a low laugh.

"Now I'll never be safe."

But that's alright, as long as he gets to retaliate. Of course, his hand, moving over her side, is not really light enough to tickle.

"Poor you, so doomed," sounding entirely unsympathetic and entirely out of breath, hand resting on his waist. "You suffer so."

"It's torture," he agrees, sadly.

Sort of like sleeping next to Lucy the past week had been torture.

"You're admirable for putting up with it," solemnly, ducking her head to kiss under his ear, because she knows she thinks that feels rather nice. "Very noble."